


Soaked Plaid

by imaginationdaydreams



Category: Collective Soul (Band)
Genre: 90's Music, Alternate Universe, Grunge, Inspired by Music, Living In A Barn, Multi, Rape Aftermath, communal living
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 16:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16043885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationdaydreams/pseuds/imaginationdaydreams
Summary: This fanfic is based off the band members of Collective Soul. All the character names have been changed, but the physical descriptions match that of their photo on their first album. It is the early 90's and all five men live in a barn in rural Oregon where they have formed a safe-place and collective. A young woman happens upon their barn while running from an incident. Will she find her place with them even through sickness, disaster, and addiction?





	Soaked Plaid

**Chapter 1**

Lightning cracked across the sky. The air lit up just well enough for me to see the corner of the street I was running down, just well enough to keep me from tripping over my clothing, now a gathered pile in my arms. His heavy footsteps and breathing were mere seconds behind me now. I willed for the second time that night to snuff out his very breath; his life. A cold hand stretched out and grabbed at my naked shoulder, fingertips grazing my back as it lost contact. Between a Buick and a Cadillac parked on the curb I dodged him, jumping over the ditch and into the woods. The town lights faded away behind us as fear for life faced me ever stronger.

In a chase with a bear and a rabbit, the rabbit can hear the bear coming; but now I could no longer hear my attacker coming. I thought I had lost him. I almost wished I could hear him, now not knowing when or where he would jump out of the places I didn’t look for him. The noise from the environment was too high. Rain poured down in a torrent and the thunder did nothing to calm my racing heart. He moved like a shadow when he chose to. He had been for weeks now.

Across a tall field stood a weathered barn barely visible from the overgrowth of bushes and bramble. It looked deserted to me, so I ran for it. The cold water ran down my legs, plastering my hair to my face, tangling with the mud. Tender layers of skin rubbed off my legs as I ran, the abrasion ripping at me with each step I took. Blackberry vines lacerated both bare hands and feet alike. Blood ran down my skin, mixing with the rain, something about the warmth contrasting and unsettling. I had to make it to that barn.

The door creaked open on its rusty hinges to reveal a nearly empty barn with moonlight coming in from between the wooden boards. There was nothing but a pile of loose hay along the left wall. The ceiling was taller than four of me and up in the rafters there was a short loft on the right side. I couldn’t discern what was up there, but it looked like toolboxes, thin sticks, and panels.

I stood there still as a book, silent in fear, anticipating him to appear out of a dark corner without sound or warning. Wishing I was safe with someone: an angel, the yellow lab I had in my childhood, Sadie, anyone, was all I wished for in that moment. I had never been so afraid in all my life.

The time passed by, I have no idea how fast or slow, but he hadn’t found me. Maybe he had and was just waiting for me to fall asleep. What is, as soon as I laid down my head, faltered in my security for one second, he arrested me. He would lay hold of my neck with fat and filthy hands, squeezing as he swung a strong leg around me. I would die struggling underneath him, my body still unclothed.

 _Enough._ I had been up for nearly 48 hours now. My eyes were heavy and painful. My body did not want to stay upright any longer. Resigning myself on the pile of hay, I laid down my soggy armload on the dirt floor. The hay supported my bones and covered my extremities from the exposure you feel when you are lying in bed with no covers on, and for the first time in days, I felt security, if only for a moment.

Memories, horrible memories, came flooding back in. Outside the storm was still raging. The thin wooden walls shook and the beams creaked. I lay there unable to cry at all that had happened; how alone I was and how far away from home I was tonight. Without a sound I felt a hand place down on my shoulder. I screamed, unable to see, my fear darted through the ceiling and I lay motionless on the floor.

"Guys, she’s going to wake up soon." The voice was hushed and concerned.

“Well, shit.” Another man standing to the right of me cussed loud enough to wake me fully, but I kept my eyes closed.

“What do you want me to do with her?” spoke another man.

“Get her out of here before she wakes up and finds us,” answered the second voice.

“What she needs is a doctor,” said a third man.

“I don’t care where you take her. You just get here out of here,” said the second.

“What are you guys even saying? You know we can’t take her into town,” said the first.

“I’m not taking her anywhere until I stop her bleeding. You can excommunicate me for all I care. Get my things, Robert,” the third voice shot back quickly.

Robert, I presume, left for a moment to gather medical supplies. The man of the second voice slammed the door on the far side of the room, leaving me alone with the man still looking over my cuts on my arms and the man wiping my hair out of my face. I lay there confused and silent, eyes still closed shut as the second man lifted my hands to his own with a clinical touch. Robert entering the room again cut off the two men speculating about what happened to me. I could hear the second man rummaging around in a metal box for something, bandages maybe. A sharp tug on my palm told me it wasn’t bandages, but pliers.

“Shit the kid is fucked up,” he muttered in disgust.

The pain of him pulling bits of glass and thorns out of my palms made it increasingly difficult to pretend being asleep. If he knew I was awake, maybe he would be gentler. Water splashed over my hand. Then I could smell alcohol. I jerked my hand free and opened my eyes before he could splash that on me too.

“Now she’s awake,” Robert said.

He had been standing there behind a horse stall, arms crossed and resting on the top edge of it, just watching to see if I would wake up.

“Ah. Please. Don’t do that,” I pleaded.

The weakness in my voice sickened me. The men looked at me speechless. Their thumbs dug into their pockets as they took in the reality I was there alive. Maybe they didn’t fully expect me to wake up.

“I don’t want to,” the man with the pliers finally decided to explain. “You alright?”

He took my hand in his again and for the first time I saw in better light the damage that had been done. My palms were swollen and the skin was abraded off from falling on the concrete walkway. Thorns stuck out from in the flesh of my arm. I couldn’t see the bruising and handprints on my neck, but I could feel them.

“I’m fine,” I lied, as most people do.

“Robert?” he beckoned, pulling the cork out of the alcohol bottle with his teeth as he did so, “Give her your hand or somethin’. This might sting a bit, miss.”

The younger man came out from his hiding spot behind the half wall. He went to take hold of my other hand with his, but seeing the glass still embedded in it, he positioned himself behind, squeezing my shoulders when the pain got so bad it threatened to make me lose consciousness. The man beside me got the glass and thorns out of both of my hands, most of it was just small bits on the surface, but a few of the larger pieces had gone much deeper. Deepest of all was a gash that happened on the back side of my left hand, right below the thumb. He had saved cleaning that for very last.

"Hold still," he commanded me when I instinctively pulled my hand away. The needle pierced my skin and pulled with the most deadening pain I had ever known, I could feel it way down in my bones. Every inch of the thread abraded my skinned flesh. Again, it pulled me. The pain unbearable, Robert saw that I was about to scream and placed a firm hand over my mouth to muffle it. He was nervous and scared as I was, maybe even more. There was nothing to numb the pain. All I could do was wait it out. _Please, God, let it end._ I didn’t want know what I would've had to endure if the man now tying off the stitches hadn't known what he was doing. He worked quickly, but was the most gentle doctor I had ever been with. I think being in the medical system day in and day out does something to you. He had probably only ever done this a handful of times before. He wasn’t numb to seeing a human being in pain.

Later that morning...

My shirt was not as I imagined it, instead someone had cared enough to even wash it first. How they did it so quickly before I woke up, I did not know. Still wet, but smelling a whole lot better, the precious garment was again collected in a pile in my arms along with my sun bleached jeans. It would be a long walk, by the time I was done for the day my clothes probably would be dry. With my backpack slung across one shoulder I set out.

I could still hear them talking inside and no one had come to check on me. I felt guilty for taking one of their shirts with me, but I didn’t have time to change and I didn’t have anything to change into.

Heading back to town was not an option. There was no telling where that man was. Instead, I would parallel the track to the next town or maybe even one more than that. I remembered, as I ran away last night, seeing a stretch of railroad track behind the trees on the other side of the barn. It crossed over a river not too far from there. That was the direction I set off it, not really knowing where I was going, but knowing it was safer than here, probably.

The sound of the men talking heatedly in the barn grew softer as the sound of flowing water grew louder. Ripe blackberries clung to the despicable bushes I had run into last night. For as much resentment as I had for them, I was quite hungry. The berries were warmed by the morning sun and tasted quite enjoyable. I ate them sparsely as I hurried towards the river. I hadn’t been able to find the tracks in my delirium. Maybe the river would be easier, at least I could hear it. The chance of hearing a train pass by was minimal, they were probably deserted. I had been wrong before about that sort of thing though.

At last my vision went from that of sun tanned grass to rippling water falling over rounded stones. The heat had risen from the earlier morning hours and I was glad to find the water when I did. My hands still bandaged, I resolved to sticking my face in the water like some animal. The borrowed shirt rode up my backside, exposing it to the fresh air.

“Eh there! Yer blocking my picture!” shouted a man in the distance.

Was no place vacant? “Sorry!” I shouted back at the man standing at an easel with a palette in one hand, a large brush in the other, “I didn’t realize.”

His shirt hung off his body a bit, it was unbuttoned because of the afternoon heat. He wasn’t bad looking really.

"Do you know which way the railroad tracks are?” I asked, now tired of wandering around aimlessly. “Whatcha' be needin’ with railroad tracks, ya young thing? Aren’t thinking a tying yourself to them I hope,” he said absentmindedly as he strode towards me.

Up close I could see all about what I could see from a distance. There wasn’t much to his appearance, just simple attractiveness. He fit in the surroundings well, his hair being the same color as the overgrown grass and things.

“Um-- No, nothing like that. I just wanted to, like, see which way the next town was--” “The next town?” he interrupted. "You've got to be joking. You weren’t thinking a goin’ there like that, barefoot and all, now were ya? The next town is a two day walk from here.”

My mood changed sour, like milk that had been left out in the morning sun too long. Two days? Maybe if I walked fast I could catch it in one and a half. I decided to change the subject.

“What are you doing out here painting anyways?”

“What are you doin’ out here drinking water with no knickers on?”

The conversation was going in a decided direction: nowhere.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a smoke would ya?”

“Look.” I resigned myself, now sitting on the ground with my feet stretched out in front of me, head tilted back, eyes squinting from the sun overhead. “Would you just point me in the direction of the next town.”

“Sure thing.” He paused to turn his attention to his painting before continuing. “Just as soon as you explain what ya be doin’ with my shirt.”

 _Oh dear God, this was the other guy they were telling me about._ “Your shirt,” I stammered, “I didn’t know this was your shirt.”

“Don’t worry. It looks good on ya.”

He had that look about him; like he didn’t care much what time of day it was or if the water in front of him happened to turn to grape juice. “How curious,” he might say and then go on about his painting, mixing more red instead of blue this time for the river.

“I found it.”

“Right. You happened upon my trunk and decided to air it out. How did you find our barn? I bet Ed was pissed.”

“Ya, ya he was,” the feeling in my stomach turning to acid. I never felt good lying about the shirt, even if it was a small lie, “I was gonna give it back if I could…”

He stood there, arms crossed, looking me over with his eyes blue as the river; reading my slouching posture and noting all the sickness behind my eyes. “I don’t know how you found us,” he finally spoke up, “but ya did. I gather ya got into some fight or have serious self-harm issues from the state of yer hands and things. West must of bandaged ya up, Ed got pissed, Robert looked at you with cow eyes, and finally Donny was the only one that made you feel at ease. Am I right?” He continued, “Ya ran off. Ya look a mess. I don’t want a heavy hearted little thing like yerself bein’ alone out here for the next two days. He isn’t as mad as ya think.” He winked at me. My tension oddly dissipating as he did.

The journey back didn’t take as long as it had taken me to get to the river. My path hadn’t been the straightest. He didn’t ask backstory, but he did ask if I had a cigarette again, not remembering he already had and apologizing when he did remember. His steps swung a little, like when you open a door that has a mirror hanging on the back of it.

“What is it you were painting?” The question sounded stupid out loud.

“The river.”

“I mean, what feeling were you going for? Like, are you into reflections of the sky ‘er the um-- ripples?”

“Ripples.”

“Cool.”

I was trying to ask that guy if he was into darkness or light, but it was not coming out right. Words are frustrating.

 

I admitted I was still kind of afraid of going back. “Don’t be givin’ me none of that; stick yer chin up,” he said.

**Chapter 2**

The smoke from the fire stung my eyes and filled the barn with a light fog, making it quite hard to see for both reasons. Now dark outside, it was our only light save for the candles. Why they hadn’t made a chimney I didn’t know. If they had been living here long enough to think of that I didn’t know either. No one had clued me in too much and I didn’t like stirring up trouble, so I just didn’t ask. I had thanked them for letting me stay with them, but that was the bulk of our conversation that evening. Whether they were afraid of saying too much about something I shouldn’t know or they simply didn’t know what to say, something had kept them quiet, but they said things with their eyes to each other while we ate dinner.

They had pulled me a crate up around the barrel over an hour ago and the fire had been dying down. There appeared to be no refrigeration, no electricity, so when they wanted to cook a meal they had to not leave leftovers. Meat, for that reason, was not eaten by them, so they told me; unless they were in town and had a reason to celebrate.

I was usually nervous to eat around people. I didn’t like the idea of being judged for how much I ate, even if to them it didn’t seem like a lot. It was stupid, but since there was so much I couldn’t control in the world, in my life, that at least I could control how much I ate. Sometimes I was a good ruler and there were times of plenty and happiness. Other times, like so often in history, I was tyrannical going days and weeks without a square meal. The worse the environment was around me, the harder I was on myself. I hadn’t eaten much the last few months. Maybe I was too hungry to care, maybe, as much as I denied it to myself, I felt safe here, but I made sure there were no leftovers that night. Donovan had made spaghetti; the kind that comes in a can.

Ed ate his meal largely ignoring me, jaw and shoulders tight; not sulking, but still kind of pissed. Not everyone was tense though, in fact he was the only one who was. They had a good laugh over Sylvester finding me how he did. I did give him his shirt back, but he told me I could keep it. Most likely he was aware that I only had one shirt to my name, save for my plaid.

I think maybe why they didn’t ask my backstory was because they wouldn’t of wanted me to ask theirs. There had to be some reason why they were all living together, in seemed secrecy. I would be willing to bet none of them were educated past middle school. I had been, but looking at what it had gotten me, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing they weren’t.

“You are welcome to go to bed anytime you want,” Westley mentioned, “Robert already set you up a place.” He nodded into the left corner of the room, the last stall in the row that had previously been empty now was set up like the other five. It had a mound of hay resembling a mattress in the left corner with a sheet draped across it and tucked underneath. There was a worn white blanket at the bottom edge and an orange crate at the bottom of the bed for my things. “Thank you,” I nodded at the both of them before scanning across the faces of the others, domestic in the orange glow.

Back when I lived in a house I would sleep with no clothes on. Now I always wore them. The blanket he had left at the bottom of my bed was scented like the clean summer air, as if he had hung it out in the evening glow just for me. Why was he being so nice? He had struck me as just a nice person. You know, one of those guys that holds the doors open for little old ladies at the grocer’s and plays along with kids’ stories when they come running up to you saying they are a dinosaur or some such imaginative thing. He wasn’t much like to others, like maybe he was the kid brother of one of the other guys, West, maybe. That was the last thought I remember before waking up the next morning.

From my bed I could see the cabinet that held their canned food, medicine, and tools on the southside of the barn. To the left of it was the firepit, really just an oil barrel, with the six crates around it. Someone must have gotten up in the middle of the night. The small curls of smoke coming out the top of the rusted barrel told me so. There was nothing else in the room besides those two things and the row of stalls turned bedrooms. They were oddly tidy. Normally the lower class a person is the messier their home. In an attempt to look richer than they are people often buy decorative items or paint the ceramic items in their home gold or silver, which only accomplishes the inverse of their original intention, ironically. Somehow these five men had made their corner of the world look better than most middle class homes I had been in growing up. It was a nice change.

This is the view I woke up to that next morning. I stretched and yawned like a puppy when it wakes up, almost forgetting for a moment where I was and how I had happened here. Feeling compelled to straighten my bed the way it was when Robert had left it for me, I started my day. Sylvester came in the door that led to the outside, his shoulders weighed down by two large buckets slishing and sloshing with water. His head bent down in concentration at making it to the barrel inside the door. I watched as he emptied the first of the two buckets into it, swinging his body like he did when he walked.

“Can I help you with anything?” I asked quietly, thinking everyone else must be asleep.

“Can you cook?”

“Sure. Ya.”

“Good,” he grunted, pulling the other bucket to the edge of the barrel as he spoke, “because I sure as hell can’t.”

His choice of words phased me. I had been around all kinds of profanity and colorful phrases lately, but they just didn’t sound right coming out of him. He was one of those people that just looked like they were meant to be happier than they looked.

“Do you want me to make anything in particular?”

“It doesn’t matter. There isn’t much in there anyway-- Thanks though.”

“You’re welcome… Did you sleep well?”

“I sure did, miss. Did as well, I hope?”

Ed came in the door from the other room, again without knocking. I didn’t get a chance to respond to Sylvester’s question, my instinct was to lay low, so I turned my back on him and continued cooking. He milled about the room as I found a bag of oats high on the cupboard shelf. His gaze fell on me, I could feel it follow me as I moved about the cupboard looking for a spoon to stir breakfast with. Somehow knowing exactly what I was looking for, Ed got propped himself up off the wall like some cat stretching its back in the sunshine. He made a clamoring in the chest at the end of his bed and produced a large silver spoon. My blood vessels tightened anytime he was near me, now I was choking my own circulation as he came up behind me, tapping my shoulder with the cold spoon. I lifted my eyes to meet his, just long enough to take the spoon from his hand. Sylvester just stood there like a grade school kid watching two of the older boys to see if a fight would break out.

The actual meal didn’t take long to cook and before I had finished the other four men had found their way in. They came carrying firewood, fruit, laundry, and linens. Greeting me cheerfully as they passed by, they went about their morning chores. West offered me a hand with breakfast and we sat down to our meal on the crates. Small talk bounced between us as they planned out their day.

When I had finished my oatmeal I rose to my feet ready to make my exit speech, “Thank you guys for letting me stay with you while I got back on my feet. I don’t really know how to thank you for all of it.  I better duck out of here though.”

“Where are ya goin’ from here?” Sylvester asked me.

“I-- I don’t really know exactly. I’ll figure it out.”

“Haven’t you got a friend, a family, or something?” Ed paused, looking up and mocking me.

“I’ll figure it out.”

The conversation getting uncomfortable, I took the chance to get up and grab my bag before heading out that door. Leaving something behind, never to be returned to again, was one of the simple pleasures I had found out about before. It would be exhilarating to get the chance of doing it again.

The guys all sped glances back and forth between them, pushing their food around in their bowls, not really eating any of it, just thinking. I took one last look behind me at them, wanting to remember them like a picture in my memory, not wanting to forget how amazing and kind they had been. I knew how lucky I had been they found me, or that I had found them, rather. I had half convinced myself they were angels; that when I walked out that door I would look back over my shoulder like I was now and they would be gone. A dream, that was all it was. It had to be.

“Miss?” Donovan’s voice came out of nowhere. I had been lost in my inner thoughts, apparently long enough for him to notice.

“You don’t have to go,” he continued. “Actually, we would rather you didn’t. Isn’t that right guys? We all had a talk last night, and majority ruling, we’d like you to stay with us, that is, if you wouldn’t mind it.”

“Why do you want me to stay?”

“You’re the first girl we’ve ever had here,” Donovan muttered.

“Ya, we think you’re pretty cool, like we didn’t expect that and stuff,” West mumbled behind him.

“The boys are just weak and want to get out of doing all the cooking. With you around they figure they’re safe,” Ed explained before adding in one short breath, “And if something happened to you out there we… we wouldn’t feel so good about it.”

“You guys just met me. I’m not your problem.” I opened the door again.

Robert choked on the air looking at me, “Yeah, ya are. Everyone is our problem.”

“Thanks, but I can’t do that to you guys.” I wanted to stay.

“Nonsense. You wouldn't be doing anything to us, you would be working alongside us, just part of the family,” Donovan gave it one last try.

I closed the door one last time. _Could I seriously be considering stay with near strangers? I could find no argument against them. Maybe this is what I had been searching for. Maybe the Lord had heard my prayers and this is how he planned to answer them. What would happen if I said no? I didn’t like to think of that. Answer them, Marble, you’re standing there like an idiot._ It was all my concentration and a half to not start crying in front of them. I looked up at Donovan a foot and a half or so taller than me. “Thank you,” I whispered, “It means a lot. I will work hard.” My smile was half hearted, it wasn’t that I wasn’t happy, I was. I was so happy that my emotions got all confused and I just wanted to cry. I didn’t know why it happened like that it just did.

West stood up from his crate, pressing his palms into his thighs as he did so.

“Since we’re going to be living together, why don’t we at least learn your name. I’m West.”

Robert corrected him from the other side of the room, “He means Westley.”

“She can call me West.”

It hadn’t occurred to me they didn’t know that yet. He was right. We were practically strangers.

“It’s Marble.”

West cocked his head.

”That’s a first.”

I had never met anybody with my name either.

Donovan took the backpack from my white knuckle grasp and placed it at the end of my bed. _My bed?_ The words sounded funny. _My bed, my room, my family?_ I felt something grow in my chest and tighten every rib at the same time.

“I’m glad yer stayin’, Marble. I’ll be back at that river if you need me; same place ya found me last time,” Sylvester said as he waved goodbye, swinging his own backpack on with a heft as he pushed open the door. It let in a beam of summer light, illuminating the ground in front of the door. It was a small beam of light compared to the immense barn, but it was there just the same. Maybe my life was like that barn, dark and barely inhabitable, until some door was opened and a beam of light came in.

Westley rummaged around in the cabinet for his medical supplies.

“You should let me change your bandages before you do anything else.”

He sat down on a stool and pulled one closer to him. The gesture was small, but it made me feel better about him. The pain in my legs when I sat down next to him brought me back to the reality of the night before last. For a second longer than normal behavior I must have froze.

“Hey. You alright?”

His voice shot me back into unfamiliar reality.

“Ya. I’m fine… Thanks.”

I gave him my left hand because it was closest to him. I watched him unwrap my hand gently, turning my palm over in his own with concern in his eyes. I didn’t know if I should be looking at him or my hand, so I went between the two, which probably only accomplished me looking nervous as all get out, which was actual not true at that given moment. He knew what he was doing.

“You cut the shit out of your hands, kid. What were you doing? They are going to heal, but I’m not a miracle worker.”

Robert joined in time to save me from having to answer.

“Yes you are. You’ve taken care of everything we’ve needed in a doctor.”

“None of you ever did anything like this.”

He was so humble I had to say something.

“You’ve done me a lot of good and I don’t think I’ve thanked you yet. I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I consider you my big project. You come back to me tonight so I can change these again. The last thing you need is to get an infection.”

With that he packed up his supplies, put them away and headed out to do whatever it was he was going to do for the day. His tidiness reminded me of my mother.

“I’ll be out fixing the fence if you need me,” West said as he headed out the door.

The sun had risen high enough in the sky to almost be called daylight. The spaces between the boards of the barn were wide enough to let in a good deal of it, but it still stayed quite dark, which I had an issue with. It was just warming up.

Robert had gone to clean up the kitchen.

“Uh, you don’t need to do that,” I said reaching for cast iron pan. “Here, let me do it.”

He continued to gather up the bowls and spoons into a bucket.

“Don’t worry about it. There isn’t much left to do, and you really shouldn’t with your hand wrapped like that. Don’t worry,” he said.

Donovan came out of his room to come see how things would play out.

“I have an idea. Why don’t you go get some more rest and I will help him finish up the kitchen. I will come get you before I leave so that you can come help me with what I’m doing today,” Donovan said.

“If you’re sure,” I said. “Thank you guys. I guess I am a little tired still. What are we doing today?”

“Do you know much about cars?” he asked.

“Nope. Not a thing,” I sighed.

“Alright, then that is what we will be doing. I’m going to fix our bus and you are going to sit down and learn about it. How does that sound?” he laughed, pouring water over the dirty dishes.

“It sounds great, I’ll catch up with you later. Is it alright if I wait for you outside? It is such a nice day.”

“Sure thing,” he said with a smile.

“Bye, Marble,” Robert spoke-up.

I turned to look back at him and gave a wave.

Later that morning…

I had fallen half-asleep sitting on the ground with the sun shining on my face and my back leaned up against a tree. Waiting for Donovan to come join me, I had stomached the unavoidable thoughts that enter your mind when you have time to think. Although promptly I did chase them away. I heard footsteps behind me, but didn’t turn to see who it was.

“You alright?” Came Robert’s quiet voice.

It was then I turned to look. His hands were clasped in front of him and he was leaning on his shoulder against the tree beside me. The edge of his coat was nearest to me and that is what I had followed with my eyes up to his face.

“I’m fine thanks. How are you?”

“Well, I’m feeling a lot better now that I know you’re going to stay safe with us. I didn’t mean to scare you last night.” he said lowering himself down to sit beside me. “May I?”

I nodded. “I didn’t mean to squeeze your hand so tight,” I said, a small smile starting at the corner of my mouth as I looked over at his delicate featured face and long, light brown hair. "How old are you?"

"21. You?"

"19."

"You look younger than that."

"So do you. Are you and Westley related?"

"No, but Eugene and I are."

"Eugene? I would never of guessed. You are too different-- in a good way."

"Thanks. I really just came out here to tell you that if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you."

I let that sink in.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
